


containing multitudes (quintessentiality)

by amusewithaview



Series: Said the Hatter with a sigh, "It's always Tumblr time." [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Gen, Internet, Magical Realism, Personification, Urban Fantasy, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 18:53:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6483082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amusewithaview/pseuds/amusewithaview
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You must use your magic,” her grandfather had told her seriously.</p><p>“Or else I’ll lose it?” she’d asked, wit faster than propriety could handle.</p><p>“No, you’ll never lose it,” her grandfather had told her.  “But magic wants to be used and if you don’t give it something to do, it’ll find a purpose.”</p><p>She’d shrugged him off and scampered off to find her cousins.  Looking back, years later, she could recognize that her grandfather hadn’t been disapproving - no, he’d been worried.  But by then it was too late: some roads, once walked down, could not be backtracked.</p><p>Darcy wasn’t sure she’d want to even if she could.</p>
            </blockquote>





	containing multitudes (quintessentiality)

Darcy Lewis came from a family with a slight propensity for magic.  It wasn’t usually anything major, but - if cultivated - most of the people in the extended Lewis clan could develop a few talents that were definitely outside the ordinary.  Her older sister, for instance, always had perfect make-up.   _Always_. Her father always had exactly the right amount of change.  Her grandfather had the greenest thumb in the tri-county area.

He was the one who had pulled 12 year old Darcy aside at a family gathering, frowning down at her in what she had read as disapproval.  “Child, why don’t I see you using your gifts?” he asked her.

Darcy, already in full-blown teenage rebellion, had sniffed and tossed her head.  “I don’t need it,” she said.  It wasn’t like they did anything really  _cool_ , anyways.  Perfect eyeliner was stupid and real magic -  _their_  magic - was nothing like Harry Potter so she just didn’t see the point.

“You must use it,” her grandfather had told her seriously.

“Or else I’ll lose it?” she’d asked, wit faster than propriety could handle.

“No, you’ll never lose it,” her grandfather had told her.  “But magic wants to be used and if you don’t give it something to do, it’ll find a purpose.”

She’d shrugged him off and scampered off to find her cousins.  Looking back, years later, she could recognize that her grandfather hadn’t been disapproving - no, he’d been  _worried_.  But by then it was too late: some roads, once walked down, could not be backtracked and Darcy wasn’t sure she’d want to even if she could.

…

It started off slowly, and so gradually that it was only with the benefit of hindsight that she could say that the impact began when she was in her teens.  At first it was little things: remembering answers on tests that she really hadn’t studied for, swinging moods that she mostly attributed to being a teenage girl, and somehow the song on the radio always seemed to match her mood.  Sometimes she felt something like a gentle nudge when she was making a quick decision, but it was always little stuff, like a preference for one channel over another, or a specific dress instead of a skirt.  It was so little, so innocuous, that she read it as impulse and didn’t question it further.

She’d mostly ignored magic and had gotten out of the habit of looking for it in everyday happenings.  The truth was, when magic was real to you, tangible even, you stopped expecting to see it  _everywhere_  because you knew you’d see it  _somewhere_.

She entered college undecided because it just felt like the thing to do, even though up until she’d turned fourteen she’d been pretty solidly set on becoming an archeologist (Jurassic Park was formative, sue her).  Darcy chose a middling level school, preferring to avoid the debt that some of the better (bigger) names could bring, but wanting the “college experience” enough that she eschewed the community college approach that her sister had taken.  It just… felt right.  It suited her in ways she chose not to question.  Besides, as much as Stacy bitched about school, she almost felt like she was there.  Their relationship had improved over the years, especially once Darcy stopped actively attempting to be Stacy’s diametric opposite in all possible ways.

The first time it was really brought to her attention was at a party.  Darcy had gone with her roommate, even though she wasn’t sure she wanted to attend, and ended up in the basement with the kids who were passing around joints and - in some cases - even heavier stuff.  She puffed and passed, letting the smoke roll over her and trying not to cough.

“You’re, like,  _bright_ ,” one boy with bloodshot eyes and red hair slicked back into a tight knot told her.  He blinked rapidly, then reached out and poked a space a good two feet to her left.  “S’like tentacles, but - but  _not_.  Wicked.  Are you always so shiny?”

Darcy left to find some air, and her friends, and pretended the whole thing hadn’t left a shivery feeling on the back of her neck.  Like a storm was on the horizon and moving in fast.  There was a faint pressure on her shoulders and the back of her neck, like she was wearing a heavy coat or a shirt that was just a little too tight.  She didn’t think about it.  She refused to think about it.

At her next family gathering, the storm broke.

“The fuck have you done to yourself?” her cousin Paula demanded, grabbing her arm and shoving her into a chair.  Paula was the second oldest in their generation and had turned her magical talent into mundane genius by granting herself profound sight and Sight, which she mostly used as a diagnostic aid in her surgery practice.  Paula was overtly,  _obnoxiously_ , Type A.

“Um.  Went to college?” Darcy asked, scowling.  A small crowd was forming as other cousins wandered over to check out the commotion (Paula was not exactly quiet) and aunts and uncles started wondering what the ruckus was.

Paula raised an eyebrow, squinted, then reached out and  _poked_  something.

“OWFUCK!” Darcy shrieked, clapping both hands to her face as something between and just above her eyes seemed to  _pop_  into existence.  She panted, curled over her knees and shaking as awareness bloomed in her mind with all the subtlety and softness of a bomb exploding.

“So what is it?” Paula demanded.  “What have you become, little cousin?”

“You need to step back, PJ,” Stacy broke in, voice steely.

“Did you see what your dumbass little sister has done?”

“Step.  Back.”

Darcy whimpered, focusing on shoving everything back into the metaphysical bubble it had been contained in.  It was too late, of course.  What she was attempting was the magical equivalent of trying to stuff sausage filling back into its casing after it’s been cut open - only worse, because this was  _magic._ She felt two hands wrapping loosely around her wrists and tugging at them.  Darcy looked up to see Stacy crouched before her and watching her with concerned green eyes.

“You okay, sis?”

“Not really,” she said, smiling weakly.  “I went and became the personification of Middle American Caucasian Teenagerhood while I wasn’t looking.”

Stacy’s mouth dropped open.  “What?  Middle American Caucasian Teenagerhood?!”

“Or something close to that, but it’s… it’s changing.  I probably could have slipped out of it entirely but  _somebody_  had to go and be a  _bitch_  and bring it up in front of everyone!” Darcy growled, glaring up at Paula.  “You know this shit is more permanent when it’s  _known_!”

Paula glared right back, “And  _you_  know that wild magic like this shit is contagious.  I don’t want you getting Personification all over my kids!  They’re bad enough without suddenly becoming representational avatars of all that is toddlerhood!”  She took a step forward, practically wagging her finger in Darcy’s face, “If you’d used your talents right, none of this shit would have happened.  Now you’ve gotta face the consequences and own your nature or it’ll own you.  And get it under wraps, this - ” she gestured to encompass an area about five feet around Darcy, “nonsense is all because you don’t have a lock on it.  Clean up your mess, kid, then maybe you can join the rest of us.”  She nodded sharply, then dragged most of the rest of the onlookers off with her towards the house.

Stacy bit her lip, fretting with Darcy’s sleeve.  “So.  Personification, huh?  And it’s changing?”

Darcy sat back, yanking her sleeve out of her sister’s hand and rolling her eyes.  “I’m almost not a teenager anymore, remember?”

Stacy snorted, “Yes, of course, how could I forget, what with you acting so mature all of a sudden.”

Darcy blew a raspberry at her.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically Darcy nudges and shifts and eventually, by the time Thor 2 is just beginning , she is waffling between being the Personification of the Westernized Millennial Generation and being the Personification of the Internet. She goes for the latter because it’s more useful and allows her more freedom to be herself - flipside, it also means she has to work harder to keep a lock on all she is because the internet contains quite a fucking bit.
> 
> PERSONIFICATION AU  
> DARCY IS THE QUINTESSENTIAL MIDDLE AMERICAN TEENAGE WHITE KID  
> THEN DARCY IS THE QUINTESSENTIAL UNDECIDED COLLEGE STUDENT (THE WHITE VERSION)  
> (THE AMERICAN VERSION)  
> THEN DARCY SLOWLY STARTS TO BECOME THE MILLENNIAL GENERATION (WESTERN VERSION)  
> AND EVENTUALLY THE INTERNET


End file.
